


Patrol

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Emotionally Repressed, F/M, First Kiss, Gender Identity, Genderfluid Character, Kissing, Love Bites, Power Dynamics, Sexual Tension, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 17:50:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18238238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: “So, so, you know,” Jack – who, at the beginning of the day, had been Mary – was saying excitedly. “You know, that’s… A woman soldier, and, and me, so…” He trailed off, a ghost of familiar uncertainty passing over his youthful features, and he looked to Polly for help: she gave him a stout nod. “So one woman soldier, and one man,” he said, his voice wavering a little less, and Polly felt her lip twitch, “and a woman corporal, and a woman sergeant!”An artful eyebrow raised, and a dark-lipped (plump-lipped, at that, Polly thought) mouth came reluctantly away from a steaming mug of coffee.“I do see, dear boy, why you might make that mistake… But in fact, a man corporal.”Polly felt her mouth fall open.“Oh,” Jack said, and then he exhaled, and showed a mouth of bright teeth. “Sorry, Corporal Maladict.”





	Patrol

It was at the inn that it came up.

The moon was rising, and Polly’s corporal sat back against the bench nearest to the window, head tilted back. Pale skin seemed even paler in the moonlight, and one got the inescapable impression of a cat basking in the sun. In this case, Polly supposed, moonlight was all you could really hope for – a vampire might be able to stand a sunny day or two, but _basking_ in it was asking to sizzle.

“So, so, you know,” Jack – who, at the beginning of the day, had been Mary – was saying excitedly. “You know, that’s… A woman soldier, and, and me, so…” He trailed off, a ghost of familiar uncertainty passing over his youthful features, and he looked to Polly for help: she gave him a stout nod. “So one woman soldier, and one man,” he said, his voice wavering a little less, and Polly felt her lip twitch, “and a woman corporal, and a woman sergeant!”

An artful eyebrow raised, and a dark-lipped ( _plump_ -lipped, at that, Polly thought) mouth came reluctantly away from a steaming mug of coffee.

“I do _see_ , dear boy, why you might make that mistake… But in fact, a _man_ corporal.”

Polly felt her mouth fall open.

“Oh,” Jack said, and then he exhaled, and showed a mouth of bright teeth. “Sorry, Corporal Maladict.”

“ _Quite_ alright,” Maladicta— _Maladict_ murmured, her— _his_ voice a low drawl, and Polly wondered, for just a moment, how much history _could_ repeat itself. He hadn't... He hadn't introduced himself to the new lads, after all, as Maladicta, had he? She didn't remember. She hadn't been paying attention. He’d even gone back to the old way of speaking, she thought. She hadn’t thought that much of it, on the boat, except to think that perhaps he was feeling better, now that he had his coffee back, but it had changed. It had gotten a little bit lower again, and like it was coming from more inside his chest, like it vibrated more before it came from his mouth… He still had soldiers’ words peppered in when he talked. He didn’t sound _completely_ a posh boy, any longer, but he _did_ sound…

“You may not be _my_ little lads, per se,” he said, shooting a wink in Polly’s direction and making her heart skip a beat, and she felt herself exhale, “but you listen to your Uncle Maladict, and he’ll do his best, where your care is _concerned_.”

The lads laid down in the barn, and Maladict moved to go with them, but Polly grabbed his wrist, and she looked up at his face as he turned to glance at her.

“Patrol,” she said.

He blinked. His dark eyes glittered.

“Together?” he asked slowly. She didn’t say anything, just looked him in the eye, and his lips shifted, parting slightly, and then pressing together once more. Two long, slim fingers drew up to his forehead, and he gave a slow, neatly angled salute. “Yes, _sir_.”

They walked in time together. Six months apart wasn’t so long, and old habits die hard. The habit itself might not have been _old_ , in the sense of having long to germinate, but it was _old_ , in the sense that some things are: ancient, unknowable, unexplainable. Six months wasn’t so long.

“Six months,” Maladict said, naturally contradicting her train of thought with vampiric ease, “is a long time.”

“Apparently,” Polly said. Her voice was stiff and full of edges, although she didn’t mean it to be. “Where did you go?”

“Around,” Maladict said. “Followed the clacks towers. Spent a few months in Ankh-Morpork, in fact. Terrific city… inspires terror, is what I mean. A lot of vampires in Ankh-Morpork. They’ve a female vampire in their Watch, even. Vampires all over the shop, not just Mr Chriek. Watchmen, blacksmiths, grocers, librarians, clerks… Seamstresses, even.”

“What’s surprising about a vampire seamstress?” Polly asked.

“Oh, in Ankh-Morpork, a seamstress— Well, it hardly matters,” Maladict said, waving a graceful hand, as if to usher that train of conversation off elsewhere, where it might learn not to interrupt. “D’you know, my dear,” Polly felt that she should stiffen at that, but for some reason, her body neglected to take the order seriously, and instead she felt herself softly sigh, “it— it _isn’t_ the same everywhere?”

“What do you mean?”

“It isn’t,” Maladict said softly, fervently. “It’s not the same, you see. Oh, Ankh-Morpork isn’t perfect – it’s a rotten city, it is, but… But, you know, a man isn’t _that_ much different to a woman. There are an awful lot of women Watchmen. Women _dwarves_ , even, can you imagine that? And then I went to… I went to Pseudopolis, and there, too… And then to Quirm.” They were all foreign cities on foreign maps. Polly didn’t know where they were, but Maladict listed them as if he was grabbing at snatches of steam from the air, trying too hard to hold them in his palms. “And it was… No one took you more or less seriously, male or female. So long as you conducted yourself with authority, people did as you said.”

Polly wondered if she was supposed to be talking, and replying, and generally taking part in the conversation, but there was an uncomfortable drag and pull in her stomach, and she unbuckled her shako, drawing it off her head and holding it loosely under one arm. She ran a hand through her hair, which fell in light waves around the back of her neck, didn’t come down past her jaw, but—

But she was glad to have it. It wasn’t like it was, and she wasn’t sure she wanted those long ringlets back, but it was nice, in its own way.

“And I realized,” Maladict said slowly, staring into the distance, like he wasn’t sure it was safe to look at Polly, “that that wasn’t enough.”

“What do you mean?” Polly asked. Her voice sounded hoarse to her own ears, and she resisted the instinct to repeat herself, because if she repeated herself, she’d shout, and she knew she would. She heard the soft warble of a nearby pheasant in the wood.

“Well, it wasn’t enough,” Maladict said again, with a tone of defiance, now. “To be… You know, I wore a bustier, a skirt, and I could bark orders and people would follow them. There might have been a few little things about _female_ vampires, but really it was just about vampires, all of us, together. And not… You know, not in the way where men are simply the default, but _really_ , altogether. And I still didn’t feel right, didn’t feel at home in my own skin, and I thought, well, jolly good, it’s all to do with the skirt, I expect. I loathe skirts, and I’ve never cared for bustiers – not on _me_ , anyway.”

The hairs stood up on the back of Polly’s neck, and she shook her head, feeling the hair brush against the back of her neck. It didn’t shake off the weird sensation she was feeling, of too-tight skin, like her uniform was too starched and too hot, although it was a comfortably mild night, and the winter had passed behind them.

“So I wore a _suit_ ,” Maladict said. His voice was breathless, and slightly tight. “I had it tailored, you know, to draw in at the waist, so that my hips showed, and that my—” His hand hovered over his flat breast, but everyone’s breast looked flat in a uniform, Polly thought desperately. He had a funny look on his face. It looked familiar. She was glad she didn’t have a mirror. “And I didn’t wear lipstick or anything, I didn’t play it up, but I was, ah, as the lingua Quirma goes, _en femme_.

“And that wasn’t quite right _either_. It still wasn’t— No. No, no. No, not for me at all, I fear. I played around with my voice a bit, tried a few things, here and there, a few little jobs. Had a go at a few things. Nothing fit me so well as being a soldier, and I found that I, ah, that I liked my voice like this. You know. Collected. I thought I’d reinvent myself – that is to say, I thought I’d reinvent the wheel, having done so once already. So I came back, and I stopped in the capital. Saw Igorina. Came back here to re-enlist.”

“When? Did you see Igorina?”

“Oh, not so long ago. A few weeks back, perhaps. Vampires heal quickly.”

“ _Heal_?” Polly repeated, turning her head to look at him.

“I used to wear bandages, to— You know, it would have been rather bad, were I human, and it wasn’t as if I could do much _damage_ binding, but even still… It’s much better, without. I’m happier, without.” His hand pressed against his breast, now, and she thought she could see his relief, but then his face crumpled.

Maladict came to a stop, and he puts his hands over his face, his noble posture breaking as he leaned forward just slightly, exhaling hard. She hesitated, lifting up one of her hands, but before she could reach out to touch him – could she do that? Soldiers didn’t cry, soldiers didn’t—

He wasn’t crying.

He lifted his head again, his face… It wasn’t a mask. She could see the feeling in his face, the drag at his lower lips, his nose wrinkled, his eyes narrowed slightly. They weren’t watering, weren’t wet, even, but they were concentrated, and his hands grabbed at her shoulders, pulling her to face him. His hands looked soft, like a gentleman’s hands, but they were a little harder – not as flesh-soft as a human’s hands, not quite as marble-stiff as a corpse’s – and they were _strong_.

She didn’t feel any fear. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to.

“I wanted to come back to the army,” Maladict said quietly. “I was glad that I left, but I almost wished that I’d… that I’d followed you.” Polly’ neck and cheeks both felt hot, and she swallowed. “That I’d followed you and Shufti and your brother, back to your inn, so that I could… But I had things to sort out. I had things I needed to know, that I needed time to… But I wanted, Polly, to come back to the army.”

“Well, Corporal,” Polly said, “you’re back.” Why did I do that, she thought? Why would I call him corporal, when he called me by name? Do I really want a distance between us, now? He didn’t flinch, and she felt lucky for the fact.

“Did you ever want to kiss a woman?” Maladict asked.

“I kissed the Duchess,” Polly said.

“What about a man?”

“What are you asking me?”

“I wanted to come back to the army,” Maladict repeated. “Because— because, given time, I decided I liked being a soldier. A _male_ soldier. And as for— for being a _vampire_ , in authority, I rather like to have authority, so long as it comes under a superior’s command. I wasn’t made to command a castle and lure people into my clutches, vampire or not. Do you take my meaning?”

“Not really,” Polly said.

“Perhaps I might make it more clear,” Maladict said, and kissed her.

His lips _were_ soft, softer than his hands, and they were slightly cool where they brushed against her own, his fingers hovering hesitantly over the sides of her neck, his thumbs touching the edges of her jaw, as if he was frightened to touch her with his hands, when his mouth was already overstepping. Her shako dropped to the ground between them, and she reached up to grab him by the hair, pulling him down lower so that she could kiss him harder, shoving him back against a tree. It was like gossamer silk in her hand: it looked _slick_ , but it wasn’t, it wasn’t, it was soft and glossy and felt like it shimmered in her hands.

He let out a desperate little noise, a sigh, a _whimper_ , against her mouth, and how his hands touched her, now, his hands upon the bare flesh of her neck, clutching the back of her head and winding in her hair, his legs spreading so that she could get flush up against him, between his thighs.

Because she had never done so before, not to anybody, she grabbed his arse. He was softer here, too, although maybe not as soft as he could be: his flesh yielded under her grip, just a little cool under the tight trousers of his uniform. To her surprise, and to a sort of hot delight that started in her gut and rushed down like molten gold between her legs, he moaned, and shuddered in her grasp, his back arching.

She pulled away, and he looked up at her – he had to look up at her, now, because no matter that he had a few inches on her, he was leaning right back against the tree, his legs bent, and it felt _right_ , having him look up at her like this. His eyes were smouldering, his lips wet, open, and plumped like pillows by her kiss.

She drew her thigh up between his legs, feeling the soft swell of the pair of socks there, and she hesitated, but then she asked, “Couldn’t Igorina do that, too? I’m not complaining!” she said hurriedly, when she saw his face. “Sorry. No, I just meant… Didn’t you _want_ her to?”

“I might,” Maladict said. “One day. I don’t know. I haven’t given it all that much thought, it never bothered me, like my chest did.” His hands were still carded in her hair, combing through it with his artful fingers, and there was an expression of starstruck disbelief on his face.

“I,” Polly started, and she wanted to tell him. She wanted to tell him, how it felt sometimes, how it felt cutting off her hair where she felt like she should have felt guilty but she didn’t but she wanted her hair back but she didn’t; she felt like she was dressing up sometimes, in women’s clothes, it didn’t quite feel right; she felt natural, taking up space, but not taking it from others, and what did that mean, what did that make her, what was she, really, a woman in uniform, but was she a woman? Should she be like Jackrum, should she try? She didn’t know where to begin, with all the words that cascaded, flurried, inside her head. She abandoned the attempt, dragged Maladict’s neck to the side, and began to kiss his neck.

Maladict liked to appear cool and collected. Polly knew this, and she knew, too, that it was an act, and that actually he was as fastidious and funny and anxious as anybody else, that he told jokes when things got serious, that he was just as – for want of a better term – human as the rest of them. Maladict _liked_ , she knew, to pretend he wasn’t affected.

Perhaps that was why it was so exciting to hear Maladict gasp and moan and pant, his hands grabbing uselessly at Polly’s hips, her waist, her thighs, her back, his fingers dancing over the fabric of her suit as she dragged her lips over the cool, slightly stiff skin. When she got overzealous, and accidentally caught the side of his neck with her teeth, his knees gave out and he fell back more against the tree, pulling her with him, his hands tight about her waist.

“Polly,” he said breathlessly, his voice low and full to the brim with a resonance that made her shiver, “Polly, Polly, Polly—”

She touched the pink mark, looking like the ghost of a bruise, that she’d left on his skin.

“Do you like— I never knew,” Maladict said, “if you liked men, or women, it’s harder to tell than—”

“I like you,” Polly said, and grasped at his hips. “I like you. I don’t know how we… I don’t know how we do it.”

“I do,” Maladict said, his hand clumsily rushing to seek out hers, interlinking their fingers together, and he brought her hand to his breast. “I do, I know how.”

“My room,” Polly said.

“You’ll have to gag me,” Maladict said. Polly raised her eyebrows. He smiled his sheepish smile, all teeth. “I can’t… I can’t be quiet.”

“Why should I gag you?” Polly asked. “I want to hear you.”

Maladict shuddered, his eyes closing shut as he awkwardly drew himself more to his feet, although not quite to his full height, not so that he was taller than her. “But they’ll— someone will—”

“What can they do? A man and a woman in an inn room, making use of the springs in the bed,” Polly said, feeling herself flush even as she said it. “That’s normal as anything. Two soldiers… No law against it, is there?”

Maladict swallowed. She saw his throat bob. He didn’t have an apple there, not a big, pronounced thing, but he had a handsome neck, and when he swallowed, she watched the way it moved, watched it pull and shift. He opened his mouth, closed it. Opened it, and said in a quavering voice that was doing its best to be slick and suave, and falling short of the mark, “You know, I cannot quite shake the insidious feeling that perhaps _I_ ought be the one seducing _you_.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Polly said, and grabbed at his arse again, just to see him jump, to hear his low yip of noise, feel the way his flat chest pushed up against hers. “ _I’m_ going to look after _you_ , my lad.” It felt odd, to say it like this, but Maladict reacted exactly how she wanted him to: his eyes screwed tightly shut, and he gasped, his hips rolling up against her thigh.

“Yes, _sir_ ,” Maladict all but panted out, and when Polly started leading him back toward the inn, they fell into step quite naturally.

Six months wasn’t such a long time, but then again, it was.

They would have to make it up.

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up [on Dreamwidth](https://dictionarywrites.dreamwidth.org/2287.html). You can send requests [on Tumblr](http://patricianandclerk.tumblr.com/ask), too. Requests always open.


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